


so Eden sank to grief

by ourdancingdays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Ginny Weasley, Character Study, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Infidelity, M/M, POV Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdancingdays/pseuds/ourdancingdays
Summary: Ginny Potter sits down with "the other woman" for whiskey and reminiscing. An epilogue-compliant, dialogue-heavy character study on relationships.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 126





	so Eden sank to grief

‘So Eden sank to grief,  
So dawn goes down to day.  
Nothing gold can stay.’  
– Robert Frost, ‘Nothing gold can stay’

* * *

Ginny can barely see past her armful of shopping bags, only able to navigate the drive from memory alone, and she’s thinking about whether she could be bothered to cook anything for dinner. That’s why she doesn’t see him until she almost treads on him.

“Merlin!” she shouts, jumping back from the person sitting on her front step.

“Close, but no,” a sardonic voice says from below. She manoeuvres the majority of her shopping onto her hip so she can peer at the man. His platinum hair looks limp around his face and he’s picking at the sleeve of his robe. She sighs.

“You’d better come in, then,” she says, walking past him and waving her wand at the door, disabling the inner wards. She doesn’t turn to see if Malfoy follows her into the house, fearing that if she does, the calm moment will be broken, like Odysseus in Hades.

“Tea?” Ginny, still not risking looking behind her.

“No,” he says, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She unpacks her shopping with a wave of her wand, trying not to put the pasta in the fridge or the tomatoes in the bread bin.

“Harry’s not home,” she calls over her shoulder as she charms the biscuits to sit in neat little rows. “He’s doing overtime today, working on a raid of some description.” But he should know that, she thinks.

“Oh,” Malfoy breathes. “And – and your daughter?”

“Lily’s having a sleepover at my mum’s with her cousins,” Ginny tells him. “The boys are at Hogwarts.” But of course, Malfoy knows that.

“It’s always quiet with them gone, isn’t it?” he says softly, and Ginny feels a kindred ache that never goes away, no matter how many times she drops the boys off at King’s Cross station. Oddly, she hadn’t expected Malfoy to feel the same.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asks, resting her hands on the kitchen counter, still looking away from him and out of the window.

“I – I don’t know.” In all her years, Ginny has never known Malfoy to be _hesitant._

She sighs, and finally turns to face him. His dark circles stand out like bruises against his pale face, and he looks drawn, small. Like he did during the war.

“It’s you, then.”

Malfoy starts, staring at her with doe-wide eyes. “What?”

“You’re the one Harry’s sleeping with.”

He splutters, then schools his face into something guarded and – and _pointy._ “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ginevra.”

She laughs and is aware she sounds a bit unhinged. “Don’t take me for a fool, _Malfoy._ ” He is still shaking his head, so she continues, “I’ve known for weeks. Maybe longer, if I really think about it. Harry was never a good liar,” she adds with a small smile. “And he always hated lying to me, he knows I find it patronising.

“He was just so guilty, all the time. Spending all the time he could with Lily, promising to take us on weekend trips as soon he could get the time off work – it was like it was ten years ago, and it was _wonderful._ ” She laughs. “I wonder what it says about me that I automatically thought something was wrong.

“But he kept going to the pub late, even though he doesn’t even really like drinking, he doesn’t like that loss of control. But the real clincher –” she says, pointing at Malfoy, watching him go cross-eyed as he follows her finger, “– was when he went on a weekend-long Auror mission two weeks ago, even though he’s Head Auror, and even though he’d told me nothing about any big cases.

“So, I thought I’d go over to Ron and Hermione’s – figured, if the Head Auror’s been called out then the Deputy would’ve been as well, right? So I might as well go over and keep Hermione company, let Lily and Hugo have a playdate. Stuck my head in the Floo, and who should answer but my brother, the Deputy Head Auror?”

Ginny watches him, waiting for any flash of emotion. Malfoy stays silent. “Harry hadn’t even given Ron a cover story. He said there weren’t any big cases, and none that would warrant weekend overtime. So I put Lily to bed and waited for Harry, all Sunday evening. I think it was past midnight by the time he got back?” She laughs again, smacking her hand theatrically against her forehead, “But of course, you know that already.

“Harry had this brilliant smile on his face when he came in the door. I actually didn’t say anything for a minute, just so I could look at him. But then he saw me. He cried; did you know? I was sitting in his armchair and he knelt down in front of me and cried into my knees.”

There’s a flicker – just a flicker in the corner of Malfoy’s mouth. She’s struck a nerve.

“He told me that me and the kids were the most important things in his life, and nothing would ever, ever change that,” she says, voice hard. “And then he promised to call things off, with whoever he was seeing.”

She can visibly see Malfoy steel himself and stand up straighter. “And what on earth does this have to do with me?” he sneers. Ginny smiles.

“Well, it’s just a bit odd, isn’t it, that the minute you started working at the Ministry, all I heard about was _Draco sodding Malfoy_. Then, of course, it was _he’s alright, actually, he’s changed._ That’s how it was for years. And then suddenly, there was nothing, barely a mention, even though I _know_ you work with him on almost all potions-related cases.

“Harry hates his job. Hates it so much. So you tell me, Draco, why, all of a sudden, he couldn’t be more excited to leave and start again?”

Malfoy’s mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

“He was very careful, you see, when he was admitting his affair. Always said ‘they’. Never ‘she.’ That tipped me off straight away.” Ginny threads her wand through her fingers, drawing Malfoy’s eyes. “And then you turn up on our doorstep after he’s ended the affair, looking like some kicked Krup. So what am I supposed to think?”

“There’s nothing going on with me and _Potter,_ ” he spits, but he’s visibly shaken. “And it’s not as if you have any proof, even if there was any semblance of truth in your allegations.”

Ginny smiles. “Oh. Well, no, actually, I do. Because the wards to the grounds of the house are very specific with who they allow to just sit on our doorstep. People’d be staring through our windows, see, wouldn’t they? So it’s actually quite a short list of people who are allowed so close to the house. And two weeks ago, that list lengthened by one name. Your name.”

Malfoy has frozen where he’s stood. Ginny wonders if he’s remembering the potency of her Bat-Bogey Hex.

“He took the day off that Monday. When I came home after work, he had already picked Lily up from school and he was sitting at this kitchen table. And he told me it was done; it was over. You were here, weren’t you?” Her voice has dropped to a whisper.

It only hits her in this moment that Harry had bought his affair into their _home,_ into their children’s home. She wonders where he did it. Was it in the bedroom? Or the sitting room? Maybe they had their hands clasped across the kitchen table.

She leans back slightly against the countertop.

“I monitor the wards, just in case. There were a couple of times, when the kids were younger –” Ginny swallows, shaking her head to clear it. “I thought – maybe – that it was a work thing. You’d dropped by because Harry wasn’t in the office and he’d had to change the wards to let you in. But your face,” she says, and Malfoy purses his lips, “your face when I saw you just now told me everything.”

Malfoy had looked _broken._ He still does, but now he looks afraid.

“Tell me the truth,” Ginny demands, pointing her wand at him before he can even blink.

“Yes,” he whispers. She doesn’t lower her wand.

“Yes, what?”

“Fucking hell, Ginevra, fine! I’m sleeping with him!” He throws his arms up in the air, in defence, in surrender. He lowers them, and says, in a softer voice, “I’m sleeping with your husband.”

Ginny lowers her wand. “I think – I think I could live with myself if it was just that. But it’s not, is it?”

Malfoy’s eyes are wide. He licks his lips as though he doesn’t know what to say, but that can’t be right, because Malfoy _always_ knows what to say.

“He’s in love with you.”

“No,” he says sharply. “No, he’s not. It’s just fucking. That’s all it is.”

Ginny turns her eyes skyward. She thinks of the way Harry holds her, as though she will break at any minute, as though he’s scared, as though he’s _terrified._ She doesn’t think he holds Draco like that.

“Why wasn’t I enough?” she asks, in a rare moment of self-pity. “I’m the mother of his children. I’m the only –” she breaks off, laughing. “I’m the only woman he’s ever loved.”

“He’s not in love with me.”

“He is,” she says. It’s one of the only thing she’s sure of. “He loves me, but he’s in love with you.”

Malfoy scoffs. “Those aren’t different things.”

Ginny smiles softly. “Of course they are, Draco.” She thinks of way Harry strokes her hair, kisses the top of her head. Always asks if it’s okay before he touches her. How he looks at her with awe, with reverence, with kindness. It’s the same way he looks at their children. He loves her; they’re _family,_ their little family, and he’ll always love her. But he’s not been in love with her for a long time. Longer than his affair, she thinks shrewdly.

“We’re not – it’s not a _relationship,_ ” Malfoy spits the word as though it is ugly. “We’re just sleeping together.”

“Harry’s not like that.” Malfoy scoffs, but Ginny continues, “he’s never been like that. He doesn’t – feel, that way, about people. He can’t separate sexual and romantic.” She smiles sadly. “You know, I asked him once? I asked what fantasies he had, about other people. He looked at me like I was crazy, like I suspected him of cheating.” She snorts at the irony. “I told him I’ve fantasied about every Quidditch player I’ve ever played against. But he – he really doesn’t think that way. He only loves.”

Malfoy scratches at his forearm and shakes his head. “That’s not true.” His face turns cold, guarded. “You just don’t want to think about it, right? You don’t want to think of your lovely, straight, war-hero husband pushing a Death Eater against a wall, fucking into _me_ –”

Ginny shouts, “Of course I fucking don’t!” He stops, triumphant. She runs a hand over her face. “Of course I don’t, Draco. But I know him. I’ve known him for thirty years.”

She stalks into the living room and throws herself into Harry’s armchair, letting herself sink. She waves a hand in the vague direction of the sofa, a sure indicator for Malfoy to take a seat. He does so, primly, sitting on the edge as though ready to run at a moment’s notice. She laughs. He’s so like Scorpius.

“What are we going to do about this?” she asks the room, not really expecting an answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Malfoy raise an eyebrow.

“We?” he repeats.

Ginny turns to glare at him. “Of course, we. He’s my husband. It’s my family.”

“No, that’s –” Malfoy runs a hand through his hair, letting himself sit further back on the sofa. “I meant, _we_. As in, me.”

“Oh,” she says, softening. This isn’t the time for selfishness. “Well, yes. He’s my husband, but he was my friend first. I love him. I want him to be happy.”

Malfoy runs his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t think he’s happy?”

Ginny thinks of the dark circles under his eyes. She thinks about the way he throws himself into Auror missions he _knows_ he’s not supposed to. She thinks of all the nights she wakes up and he’s there, staring at the ceiling, trying not to wake her while he sobs. “No,” she whispers. “Not for a long time.”

He stands then, pacing across their living room floor. _Their_ living room floor, where James first learnt to walk, and Lily used to draw pictures, and Al read forbidden books under the coffee table. It’s hard, sometimes, to think it’ll never be like that again.

“But – but _why?_ ” he asks. “He’s got everything. He’s got a wife who loves him and three perfect kids and a job he loves and fame and fortune and all the rest.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ginny says sharply. “If you know Harry, you know he’s never cared about fame and fortune. And you know he hates his job.”

Malfoy turns on his heel to stare at her.

“And yes, he has a wife who loves him, but he doesn’t love.” The thought makes her throat constrict, makes her shut her eyes tightly, but she breathes through it. “And our kids are not perfect. They’re so unbelievably fragile and Harry will always blame himself for it.”

“Not Al,” Malfoy says with a confidence that makes Ginny smile, the way her son has managed to worm his way into both of the Malfoys’ hearts.

“Especially Al.”

“Oh,” he says, looking like a part of him has broken. Ginny thinks she starts to understand him a little more; understand him and _Harry_ a little more.

“Do you love him?” she asks suddenly. Before this goes any further, she needs to know.

Malfoy splutters, a blush spreading over his pale features. It almost makes Ginny want to laugh. Almost.

“I need to know, Malfoy. Do you love him?”

“Oh, it’s Malfoy, now?” he taunts. Ginny digs her fingernails into the arms of her chair. She takes deep breaths.

“I know you’re scared.”

“You don’t know anything,” he snaps, but she can see the fear from her own eyes reflected in his. She knows better than anyone what it means to love Harry, and it is nothing if not frightening.

“You know,” she says conversationally, “he wanted to stay at home with the kids, when they were born. He was going to quit the Aurors.” Malfoy says nothing. She bolsters herself, and continues, “He loves them so much it hurt him to leave. I loved my job, I loved playing professional Quidditch, but I’d gone as high as I could and Harry – Harry was right on track for Head Auror. I didn’t want to take that away from him. It made more sense for it to be me.

“But I think, in the end, we both resented each other for it. Not openly, and certainly not enough to change anything, but I wasn’t made to be a stay-at-home mum. That’s why I started journalism, because I felt like my brain was just _rotting_ looking after three kids. I still don’t know how my mum did it,” she adds with a laugh. The idea of seven kids made her want to curl up into a ball and never come out again. “And Harry. The only thing that ever made sense to Harry was kids. He’s brash and impatient and hot-tempered with everything and anything else, but kids he _gets._ He always knows that they want, what they need, what they’re feeling, and I used to hate him for that. How easy it came.”

She looks up at Malfoy who hasn’t looked away since the start of her speech. “He blames himself, really. For them. For how they’ve turned out.”

“They’re good kids, Ginevra,” Malfoy interrupts suddenly, unexpectedly. She gives him a small smile.

“Oh, I know. We got exceptionally lucky. But I think they would’ve turned out different if they weren’t _our_ kids, you know? There was always so much pressure.” She sighs, resting her chin on her hand. She knows Malfoy understands – Scorpius has been through just the same thing, but worse, in a way; the pressure to _not_ be something, someone. “I think – if things had been different, and no one had expected Harry to be an Auror, he wouldn’t have gone into law enforcement.”

Malfoy is examining his nails. “No?”

Ginny smiles, knowing he’s trying to hide his interest. “No. He would’ve been a professor.” Malfoy raises an eyebrow, and she huffs out a laugh. “No, really. He was a natural teacher. When he taught the DA – it was a time he was really _him,_ you know? You should’ve seen him.”

Malfoy quirks a sardonic smile at that, because they both know he would have never been in the DA, never would have watched Harry the same way she did at school.

“But,” she continues, “when he started to get really, really fed up with the Ministry and the bloody politics of it all, James was just about to go to Hogwarts. He couldn’t do that to our kids, because Hogwarts was one place where people forgot to stare, for the most part. And if Harry was there – well, they’d never escape his shadow.”

“That’s very astute,” Malfoy says lightly. “For Potter.”

Ginny laughs properly this time. “Usually, you’re right. Merlin, he’s the worst choice for Head Auror. Strategy and forethought have never been his strong-point.”

Slowly, Malfoy perches himself on the edge of their coffee table and holds his head in his hands. “Fuck,” she hears him whisper.

“Draco,” Ginny says, and he looks up, “just tell me.”

He stares at her for a moment, looking torn to the point of breaking, and sighs heavily. “Fuck!” he exhales. “Fuck. Yes, alright, I love him. Are you happy now?”

“God, Draco, no, I’m not fucking happy. My husband is in love with a man, a man who tormented us through school, who fought on the other side of the war, a man who has his own kid and demons – how could I be fucking happy? But yes. Yeah. I’m glad, in a way, because the alternative would’ve been much worse.”

Malfoy laughs into his hands. “This is as bad as it gets, Weasley.”

“I haven’t been a Weasley in a long time,” she counters, but she knows, secretly, that she has never stopped thinking of herself as such. “So,” she says sharply, clasping her hands together. “What are we going to do about this?”

He leans back, staring at the ceiling. “Fuck if I know.”

“Drinks,” Ginny says suddenly, coming to her feet. “I’m not doing this without a drink. Whiskey?”

Malfoy splutters, but nods.

She goes to the liquor cabinet for the alcohol they mainly save for parties and those rare Friday evenings over dinner. She opens the bottle with her mouth, spitting it onto the table. She hears Malfoy grunt disapprovingly, and smiles. She pours out a measure into a delicate crystal glass, and downs it, still facing away from the guest in her living room. _Guest._ Merlin’s pants, she’s invited the other woman in for whiskey.

She pours out two more measures, adds an ice cube without asking, and passes one to Malfoy. He takes a delicate sip.

“S’nice,” he says into the glass.

“Of course it’s nice,” she counters, “I chose it. I love Harry, but he doesn’t have a fucking clue about good whiskey.”

A bubble of laughter escapes Malfoy’s mouth.

They drink in silence for a few moments, and Ginny belatedly wonders what her younger self would have said, at her drinking with their former enemy on a Sunday evening. She giggles.

“This is so fucking surreal,” Malfoy says. “I’m – I’m the fucking _mistress_ here. I’m not supposed to be sipping whiskey in your living room.”

“I prefer ‘the other woman’, actually,” Ginny says importantly, which only makes her giggle more. “You’ve got to lean into it, Draco. If you think about it too hard it’ll all start to unravel.”

“Right,” he says, staring down at his drink, “right.” He downs the glass. “May I?” he asks, and Ginny waves a hand. If he’s going to have her husband, he might as well have her whiskey as well.

“You know,” she says, resting her finger on her chin, “I think this is the most we’ve ever spoken.”

“I feel like this is the most you’ve ever spoken, full stop,” Malfoy mutters into his glass as he walks back to the sofa.

“When was it for you?” Ginny asks, unable to help herself.

“Hmm?” he hums, taking another sip of his drink.

“When did you fall in love with Harry?” When Malfoy stays silent, she offers, “I think it was summer before fourth year for me – his fifth. He was – he was angry, after Cedric. Could barely go a day without shouting the house down, and everyone else acted as though he was a child throwing a temper tantrum, but – but that’s exactly how I felt after first year. After Voldemort. I thought maybe I understood him better than anyone, and he just didn’t see it yet.

“Plus,” she adds, “I figured that if I still liked him when he was a red-faced angry tit, then I probably loved him.”

Malfoy snorts into his drink. He swirls the whiskey around in his glass and takes a large sip.

“I realised at a bloody Ministry gala when Scorpius was about two," he says, not looking directly at her, "and before – before Astoria had gotten really ill. She’d begged the night off, so I went alone. And there was Potter, the centre of attention, as per usual, and still looking uncomfortable.” He chuckles humourlessly. “No matter what work I do, no matter how much money I donate, no matter how many people I save or hands I shake, nothing will ever rewrite my past.

“But Potter – Potter was the one person who treated me like maybe I was different. He spoke up for Mother and me at the trials, but beyond that, he was kind, and funny. It was refreshing. And then we found ourselves sat together at the back of the room, a few Firewhiskeys in, and all those teenage glares were turned to the other guests.”

Malfoy shrugs. “He made me laugh. Makes me laugh.” He looks down at his glass then, and downs it. Ginny finds herself staring at him, her mind whirring.

“When Scorpius was – two?” she asks, deliberately not asking the other thing.

“Yes,” Malfoy says shortly.

“Ah,” Ginny replies. She downs her glass. “Refill?”

“Turning me into an alcoholic, Ginevra?”

Ginny snorts. “I’m sure you don’t need me for that, Draco.” She looks up as she stands and notices how he’s whitened. “I – I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”

Malfoy hums. “Yes, it was.”

She doesn’t look back at him as she pours out two more healthy measures. She hesitates before she passes the second glass to him.

“Merlin, Ginevra,” Malfoy scoffs, taking the drink and slamming half of it. “I’m a grown man. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a drinking problem, and longer still since I’ve had reason to.”

Ginny hums, swirling her own drink around her glass. “I could argue that falling for your male ex-nemesis would be a fair reason.”

Malfoy’s smile is surprisingly self-deprecating. “Yes, but that’s not new.”

They sit in what could almost be called a comfortable silence for a while, sipping on their whiskey and letting it warm something between them.

“You never answered my question,” Ginny notices suddenly.

“Which one?” asks Malfoy, but his eyes are far too sharp to not have noticed. Ginny waits. “Ah. That one.”

She nods. “Yes. What are we going to do?”

Malfoy swirls the liquid in his glass, watching it, mesmerized. “I’m not here to steal your husband,” he starts. It makes Ginny laugh.

“Then why are you here?” she asks.

He looks up at her, at the smile that threatens to break from her lips. He smiles back at her. “Okay. Exploding Snap cards on the table, I am here to steal your husband.”

“I thought so,” Ginny says, laughing. She sobers suddenly. “And if he doesn’t want to be stolen?”

Malfoy’s mouth twists into something unattractive. “Then I’ll leave. I won’t bother you again.”

Ginny hesitates for a moment, but finds her reserve of Gryffindor courage somewhere and leans forward to place her hand on his knee. “He’s in love with you, Draco. That’s why we’re going to sort this out.”

Malfoy – Draco – nods.

They plan it out between them. The press will never take an affair lightly, and Ginny offers to place the blame on her, but Draco won’t let her. The family will be told first; Mum’s going to take it badly, Ginny winces to herself. Worse than the kids.

Then the amicable separation, Harry moving into Godric’s Hollow, the house they’d planned for their retirement, and Ginny staying here, in their family’s home, close to Lily’s school, close to her parents, and Ron and Hermione.

Ron.

“Ron’s going to take this badly, you know,” Ginny warns Draco when there’s a lull in the conversation and half of the whiskey bottle is gone.

Draco snorts into his drink. “Understatement. Not only am I sleeping with his best friend, but I’m stealing him from his little sister.”

“I’d rather face Ron than George, if I were you,” she adds sagely, and smirks when Draco raises an eyebrow. “George is far more creative.” Draco blanches. “Of course, Percy would ruin your political career fairly easily. Bill knows some pretty nasty curses.” She sighs happily. “Maybe Charlie will set a dragon on you.”

“I’d rather he didn’t, if it’s all the same to you.”

Ginny laughs, enjoying the irony of Draco encountering a dragon-lead death.

“Was Charlie the fit one?” Draco asks suddenly, then looks down at his drink as though it’s betrayed him.

“Depends on how you define fit, I suppose,” Ginny muses.

“Short. Muscular. Had thighs that could –”

“Alright, alright!” Ginny cuts him off, choking a laugh, “That’s my brother you’re talking about!”

His face sours. “Don’t say that, you make me think of Weasley. Ron.” Ginny laughs again, bent double over her armchair. “As if one would find all those sprawling limbs attractive. And his _nose_.”

Ginny tries to stifle her laughs behind her hand, with no avail.

Draco starts laughing, too, giggling into his glass. It’s nice to see him so open; it takes years off his face, and Ginny can suddenly see the man her husband fell in love with.

“What is this?” a voice says from the doorway.

Harry is leaning against the doorframe, still in his Auror robes. He looks haggard; Ginny has noticed, of course she has, but she didn’t realise that the dead-on-his-feet aura extends past his hatred of work. It looks bone-deep, making his limbs and eyelids heavy. He looks old.

“I think,” Ginny says slowly, wobbling at she gets up from her seat, “that it’s time I go to bed.” Both Draco and Harry reach out to help her, but she waves them off, placing her glass on the sideboard.

“I’ll – I’ll be up in a minute,” Harry says hesitantly, casting glances at Draco.

“No. You boys need to talk.”

Ginny takes a breath when she’s turned away from them, tucking her hair behind her ear. She should get it cut. She should take the kids on holiday. She should do a lot of things.

“Don’t wake me when you come up,” she says instead, and she gathers her cardigan around herself.

“Gin,” Harry says, pleading, looking at her with wide green eyes.

She rubs at her eyes, standing at the bottom of the stairs and tries to smile at him. “We’ll talk in the morning, Harry.” He opens his mouth as if to argue and she pins him with a glare. “Tomorrow.” She turns fully then and looks at Draco. “Look after him, will you?”

She tries to tell him without words that she doesn’t just mean tonight.

“I will, Ginevra,” he replies graciously, standing and bowing slightly. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Ginny smiles properly then. “And you, Draco.”

She doesn’t turn around as she ascends the stairs of their family home. She hears Harry ask Draco something in a flat, confused-sounding voice and Draco answer in a cool, sarcastic tone.

This is the life they have built together; their three kids, their house, their friends, their careers. Draco Malfoy can pry it from her cold, dead fingers. But maybe it’s time for both of them to move on.

It is later – much later – when Ginny hears the front door close. She pretends to be asleep when she hears Harry ascend the stairs, leaving his robes on their bedroom floor. She can feel him stand next to the bed, watching her. She keeps her breathing even.

Eventually, Harry crawls into bed, and presses one dry kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispers, as if the weight of the world has pushed them out from between his lips.

Ginny smiles to herself. They’ll be okay.


End file.
